


We'll Bend To Break

by Prettypornybarbie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Bottom Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Dirty Talk, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Rimming, Top Sam, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:43:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2124093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettypornybarbie/pseuds/Prettypornybarbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's always pushed the rules and this time Sam can't bend anymore, so he breaks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Bend To Break

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song "If I Surrender" by The Colour Fred.
> 
> As always I don't own anything, mistakes are all on my own head etc. etc.
> 
> You can follow me and see a lot of Dean's face and stuff on tumblr; prettypornybarbie.tumblr.com

For as long as Sam can remember it's been like this; just a little too close for brothers. Not so much so that anyone might find it peculiar,  or at least no body who knew the Winchester boys and their upbringing inside each other's pockets, but just a little too close to the border of normal. As far back as Sam's mind can wander he remembers Dean's hand too low down on his back whilst photograph's were being taken, warmth radiating dangerously in his belly as he unconsciously leaned back into his brother's touch. He remember's knees entangled at diners, which felt so intimate at the time, calm expressions - not acknowledging this as anything other than very little room - as they finished greasy burgers. More than anything he remembers nights when they were far too old to be relying on each other for a good night's sleep, hands barely touching, bodies wrapped around each other comfortably; Sam never slept those nights, relished in the calm, the rub of skin, the feeling of Dean.

  
Now grown men who have experienced more than most people know life can provide, they sit together on the bonnet of the impala in the parking lot of some dingy motel passing back and forth a bottle of whiskey. The amber liquid burns Sam's throat as he eases his body back so he's leaning against the front window. He hands the bottle back to Dean, rough fingers brushing against each other. Sam wonders if Dean's doing it on purpose, he always seems to be touching him, always a fraction too close. He shakes his head, it's probably the whiskey. He watches his brother tip back his head, follows the path of the whiskey with his eyes as Dean swallows it down.

 

"Okay there, Sammy?" His voice is calm, and measured, but even in the dark of the parking lot Sam can see the gleam in his eye. Dean's doing this on purpose, pushing boundaries that he's already bent too far out of shape, how has it taken Sam this long to notice? Is the whiskey making Dean more brazen, Sam more aware? Does he just want it so much that he's imagining Dean does too? He's your brother - his mind scolds. He doesn't reply, reaching a hand out for the bottle. There's a fraction of a pause, and then instead of the cold glass of the bottle as he was expecting, Dean's fingers entangle in his, he brings them down to rest against the bonnet and Sam should be shocked, should want to pull away and remind Dean they're brothers, but he can't help thinking about what they'd look like to other people; an attractive young couple, restless and watching the stars from the parking lot of a temporary home. Dean thumb rubs against the side of his hand and it shouldn't make his legs tremble with want, but he thinks they're probably past the etiquette for the situation. He turns to Dean, voice soft against the night air,

  
"If you could have anything in the world what would it be?" It isn't a loaded question, Sam wants to know more about the man holding his hand. He knows him inside out as a brother, but if Dean's going to bend the rules then Sam wants to know a little more about the man he's getting involved with.

 

He's your brother, his head chants, no getting involved. He probably agrees, somewhere in the back of his mind, but he's drunk on whiskey and on Dean, and he needs to know. He needs to know.

 

"Safety. For you, for me. A house somewhere, a dog maybe." He grins sheepishly at Sam's obvious shock, "I said no dog in the impala, but we could have it in the house. Sunday walks after homemade burgers, drinking beer on the porch, a real bedroom." Sam can't help it, he wants it so much. He's done with this life with Dean, done with dubiously stained mattresses and always running. He's done with them protecting everyone else and never once looking out for themselves. He wants it so much it's ripping a hole in his chest. Dean watches his reaction carefully, gauging whether he's made a mistake, and his lips pout gently. Sam's eyes follow his tongue as the older brother wets them.

 

"What do you want?" Dean asks back, his voice trembling slightly, nervous.

  
  
"You." Sam answers, and before Dean can process the answer, Sam's lips are on his. It's nothing like he thought it would be, the stubble on Sam's chin rubs his skin until it's bordering on painful, his younger brother's lips are soft but he kisses with force, his tongue running across Dean's lips and begging to be let in. Dean can't take it anymore, the feel of Sam's tongue battling with his, the overwhelming idea of Sam in general has him hard in seconds. He pulls away from his brother, gasping for air, the bottle still in his hand. He pulls the taller man off the car bonnet, practically dragging him as he runs ahead,

  
"Room, Sammy, right now."

 

+++++

 

Sam kisses like he fights, more enthusiasm than straight up skill, and it's endearing. It's more intoxicating than the alcohol that Dean can still taste on the younger man, and he wants to drag every inch of breath from his brother, and then allow him to do the same back. Dean has Sam pressed against the flimsy door of their motel room, standing on his tiptoes so he can lock his hands in Sam's hair, his lips trailing kisses and bites down the man's neck.

  
"De..." Sam moans, and Dean wants to make him repeat it, wants to hear it over and over again until he's a sobbing mess, wrecked by the love in the voice of his brother. He's wanted this for so long, always placed his hands on Sam like they were lovers without really realizing, and Sam never mentioned it. They fit together like jigsaw pieces, and they kiss in a similar fashion to how they hunt, perfect synchronization; technical skill drips from Dean whilst adrenaline and surety pours from Sam. Dean can feel Sam's hard against his thigh and he needs so much more than this. He undoes his brother's buttons one by one, never breaking eye contact, and then removes the shirt. His tongue instinctively laps at the now exposed skin, licks it's way across jutting collarbones, his mouth dips to take a sensitive nipple into his mouth and Sam's hands are in his hair and he's so hard he could scream, but this is so perfect. Sammy. His Sammy.

  
"Dean, bed." The taller man pants, but Dean ignores him, lowering himself to undo his jeans, and he has his hand on the zipper when Sam pushes him away.

 

"I said bed, Dean." It comes out almost as a snarl, and Dean can't help the moan that escapes him as he scrambles backwards to find his way blindly to the bed,unwilling to take his eyes off Sam. "mmm, compliant aren't we, big brother?" Sam strips off his jeans and socks, staring down at his older brother expectantly. Dean instinctively reaches for Sam's hips, pulling him towards him as he sits on the edge of the bed. He hooks his fingers into the top of Sam's boxers and when he doesn't resist, shimmys them down his hips, reaching for his cock. The pressure of Dean's hand has Sam moaning, and it takes him a minute to realise that Dean's tongue is working alongside it, tracing the thick vein up his length. It's not like Dean's never done this before but Sammy's bigger than anyone he's seen before, and the fact that it's Sammy completely changes the dynamic, he wants all of it, all of him. He slides down the smooth length of Sam, taking as much of him as he can before gagging, gently rolling his balls in his hand. Dean's own cock is throbbing, rubbing painful at the unforgiving constrict of his jeans, but this is more important, so much more important right now. He can feel the tense muscles in Sam's body give way, his hands rubbing lazily through Dean's hair as he gives half instructions,

 

"Yeah, Dean. Oh, there. Please, Dean, please." and Dean is high on it, sucking and licking and swallowing as much of his brother as he can fit in his mouth, his hands digging bruises into his solid hips. Sam can feel the warmth pool in his belly, and it's too soon. This might never happen again, Dean might run for the hilltops when he wakes up with a hangover and the taste of Sam's come still on his lips. "Stop, Dean, stop." 

 

Dean looks disappointed as he pulls off Sam's length with an obscene pop, but Sam is soon making up for his loss, pulling layers of t-shirts off of his head, licking a solid line from neck to the waistband of his jeans, and then Sam is freeing his cock, throwing his jeans and boxers across the room as his teeth sink into the tattoo above Dean's heart and Dean never knew how much he wanted this but he hasn't had a coherent thought since they left the parking lot and the only sound reverberating around his head is Sam's name.

 

"Show me your hole, Dean." Sam instructs, and Dean should feel ashamed or embarrassed, but he can't help himself bringing his knees to his chest, spreading them open until the cold air tantalizes his untouched body, leaving him almost desperate. Then suddenly Sam is nosing at his cock, his finger just slightly touching Dean's puckered hole and it's enough to send sparks down to his feet. His body bucks slightly, and Sam smiles.

 

"Oh so you want me..." Sam licks down from Dean's balls, slowly until he reaches his own finger at the puckered hole. He gently dips the tip of his tongue ever so slightly in, "...here?" He asks Dean and he's thrashing, nodding, making noises that no longer seem like words at all. 

  
"More." The older man begs under the younger, and suddenly Sam's tongue is fucking him without mercy, and Dean's hole is clenching against him for all he's worth. Sam slips a finger in beside his tongue, almost no resistance meets him, and he curls his finger up to press against Dean's prostate. It's all too much and it will never be enough and Dean needs it to stop, and he needs it to never stop and by the time the fog clears in his head, Sam is scissoring three fingers inside him and he just needs more.

 

"Fuck me." He murmurs, and he's trying to sound in control, but it comes out bordering on a plea, and before he knows it Sam is spitting in his hand, rubbing it onto his cock before sliding into Dean. It isn't nearly enough, even with the prep, and it burns, but it's not a bad burn and it soon gives way to pleasure as Dean relaxes all the muscles in his body. Sam is still behind him, and Dean swears he can feel him vibrate with the concentration and sheer determination to stay stationary.

 

"Move." Dean instructs, and Sam snaps his hips, fucking Dean in a brutal rhythm, lifting him slightly so his back is slick against Sam's front. He bites everything he can reach, Dean's earlobe, his neck, his shoulders. He's feral, sent crazy from the tight heat surrounding his cock. He fucks with a reckless abandon, and Dean is moaning and panting his name and he will never get sick of this, and he knows that no matter how wrong this is, he will always come back to Dean.

  
"So close, Sammy." The words come out of Dean's mouth as a series of pants, and suddenly Sam's hand is on his cock and with a single flick, Dean is gone, covering his belly and Sam's hand in strings of come as he yells out his brother's name. The fluttering of Dean's hole is enough to pull Sam to his orgasm, and he fills Dean, panting and moaning against his back.

 

+++++

 

Dean lies awake, Sam curled up back against his side, fingers just barely touching under the sheets. Come dries on his belly and his legs, but he's too tired to stand up and do anything about it. He smiles softly at the sleeping figure next to him.

 

He lied, when Sam asked what he wanted. The only thing he wanted, the only thing that he really needed, was those hazel eyes staring into his own green ones every morning. 

As long as he had that? He'd be just fine.


End file.
